The Forgotten
by Sing-Sorrow
Summary: Altair shares a fatherly moment with his youngest son Sef while Abbas watches, recalling feelings from their teenage years. (edited)


Title: "The Forgotten"  
Author: Sing_Sorrow / deeper-cut  
Pairings: Altair Ibn la Ahad + Abbas Sofian  
Characters: Altair Ibn la Ahad, Abbas Sofian, Sef Ibn la Ahad  
Ratings: T  
Warnings: None.  
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Romance, Songfic.

Summary: Altair shares a fatherly moment with his youngest son Sef while Abbas watches, recalling feelings from their teenage years. (One hit)

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story, living (or passed) human beings or fictional characters. These events never happened, according to history or as the original author intended them. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

Author's Notes: This one took me some time to edit because does not allow lyrics within fanfics. I'm sorry to have left it for so long and I hope that everyone enjoys it.(2016)

This was an idea brought out of the song by the same title by Green Day that I had for a piece around 606 days ago, (December 24th, 2012), that's survived purge of my iPod and suddenly came screaming back to life for me one night after a nightmare when I couldn't go back to sleep. I must say, it has very much been this kind of summer – slow and reminiscing - and I'm very thankful for all my readers, so here's a shout-out for all of you that read and enjoy my work. Thank you so much! (^U^)

Music and lyrics by Green Day. I own nothing. Just a piece not intended to offend. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks!~

And Sef is probably around 14/15.

As always, constructive criticism is more than welcome! Reviews are always appreciated and if you enjoyed it, feel free to drop me a comment! :) I don't bite. ;) Also, I don't write many different pairings all the time. If you have any suggestions/request, drop me a line for that too! :) 

* * *

"The Forgotten"

* * *

All was still on the mountain of Masyaf. The wind raised the red and white banners of the Syrian Assassins half-heartedly in its slow breeze. Many of the villagers were huddled inside the Assassins' fortress, most listening intently and keeping children quiet. Outside the fortress, the ringing of swords had died, leaving a silence more pronounced than the battle had been stretching out for them to agonize over. Who had won? How many had they lost?

One man was running down the hills, his hazel eyes wide with panic as he took in each and every face of the casualties. Many wore the emblem of his enemy, but the faces that stood out for him were those of his clan. They were his family. Though, in his middle age, there was only one face he was desperate to find; the face of Sef, his youngest son.

Altair was halfway down the main hill when a hand caught his attention. When his son had failed to report back to him when their invader's leader had turned and fled, panic that only a parent could consider began to well up in his heart. Now, he forced himself to hold back his scream of agony and move forward: if he was lucky enough, Sef could pull through however badly hurt he was.

He heaved a body off the arm, an enemy his son had ended no doubt, and continued in pushing the wooden wagon that had been flipped over off his flesh and blood. Under the wagon lay his son, with the same rich brown hair and smooth, tanned skin as his father. His eyes were closed, as if in sleep, but the blood on his forehead marred the image. Altair's keen eyes watched his chest rise and fall, his breathing was even but dragged out and collected, as if the effort was very taxing. He concluded he was probably suffering from some form of a blunt attack to the chest, most likely from the wagon, which upon further investigation seemed to have been pushed over the ledge from above. He began gently lifting his son's head into his lap; if the wagon had been pushed into his chest, he must've fallen off the cliff as well. Altair sighed heavily and began to check the back of Sef's head, but there was nothing but faint bruising. He lifted him carefully into his arms and got to his feet; it was harder to carry his children now that they were nearly grown men, but he wanted to get him to bed to rest. The attacks on Masyaf were only occurring at a more frequent pace, and as Master of the Assassins, he was bound to protect this city to his last breath. Standing alongside him every time was his eager sons and his brothers in arms.

When he came to the gate, the villagers all looked to him, as if to find some hint of how it turned out. He didn't want them to see the gore, there wasn't any need to frighten them with images of death, even if it was their enemies. He handed Sef to another assassin, his arms exhausted with effort of carrying uphill, and as a sign to all eyes watching that his youngest was still alive, just injured. He turned to find his defense commander and long time acquaintance, Abbas Sofian, strutting into the area. He had taken a horse and chased after their assailant, and had apparently been victorious in ending his life this time. He had brought back with him the man's sword, as was custom of the Assassins to leave the body of their victims in tacked and unarmed.

He came to stand by Altair, flashing him the sword that he kept at his side. They arranged to have several groups of uninjured soldiers sent out to clear the village. They themselves helped.

It was a long day, the surprise attack had been sighted arriving at the crack of dawn, and no one had rested since. It was late evening by the time all the villagers were allowed to go home, and later still when Altair had finally rid himself of his duties as a Master to take on the duties of being a father. He made his way to the room he had spent many years of his own childhood in, the room his late mentor had created for him as son of the master, and paused at the aged wooden door.

He hadn't been told a word of his son's condition since he left him, so he reminded himself that he hadn't detected anything fatal when he had found him. At most, his son would suffer a broken bone or two, but he had already lived through many of those, out of his reckless lifestyle.

He pushed open the door and entered the room, going to sit beside his son's curled up form. His head was wrapped in a thin, white cloth, but asides from that he seemed unharmed.

"Father?"

A smile crossed Altair's marred lips. He had hoped that Sef would've been sleeping.

"Yes, son?"

He reached out and patted Sef's hand, hoping that he would keep his eyes closed at the least.

Rebellious by nature, with his father's arrogance, Sef squinted to see his father, never satisfied until he saw proof that his father was there.

"I'm glad you're here, father." he whispered, his voice just a whisper. "I was having a terrible dream."

His throat sounded dry so Altair poured him some water to drink. He helped him as if he were a baby once more, supporting his head and wiping his chin. He knew the jokes the young assassins told of their Master's paternal side, but he didn't let it bother him; there was nothing more precious to him than his two sons.

"A bad dream? Perhaps we should put your blade by your bed again, hmm?"

Sef smiled and closed his eyes. "I'd like that."

The comfort of childhood items was something Altair always tried to give his sons. When his work brought him so close to danger, he thought it best for them to have a form of connection to him in a way that would give them peace, even if he were to pass away or never return.

He smoothed Sef's hair back and watched him rest. They were both silent, but Altair knew he wasn't sleeping just yet.

"Father?"

"Yes, Sef?"

"What happens when we die? Or when we go missing? Are we forgotten?"

Altair thought for a moment; Sef was always a peaceful child. Despite his eagerness for battle, taking lives always seemed to take their toll on Sef's conscious. He wanted to give him an answer that would relieve his mind enough to rest.

"They're lost. And while they may be lost to in someone's mind, they never leave their heart. We all might not be written about, son, but we are all part of the Earth's history."

Sef eyes half opened, he searched for his father's face and forced his lips to smile. Despite his exhaustion, he wanted to ask something of his father that he had heard from the other, older assassins. It was then he realized they were not alone; the subject of his question stood in the open door. He found his mouth dry and licked his lips, forming a different way to word his question.

"What is time, father? And does it ever run out?"

Altair smiled and smoothed his hair again. His rough fingertips gently grazed over Sef's eyes, closing them. His answer was quicker this time.

"Time is the realm of the spirit, Sef. It's a place of faith and prayer, or a place that has been abandoned but is not yet forgotten. A sacred thing."

Sef pulled the blanket higher. He didn't want to ask any more questions, not when they weren't alone. He turned his face away from his father, feigning that he was tired. All he managed was to look annoyed, and he sighed heavily knowing that he upset father.

To his surprise, Altair's hands tucked the blanket around his shoulders and his lips were at his ear, whispering a soft song to sooth him to slumber.

"Don't be afraid to sleep because of a bad dream. Sometimes it's better to be forgotten, than to be seen."

He turned his face, eyes closed to smile at his father. He was beyond the age of kissing his cheek, but he did anyways, and felt the warmth of his father's blush. His body relaxed against the pillows, exhausted from the fight. His father smiled and rose, determined to give him some quiet time to rest. He paused, catching sight of who stood in the doorway; he had been aware of a presence, but he hadn't confirmed who. He supposed it would have been Darim, concerned for his brother, but he was probably still aiding in the replenishment of the assassins.

He shoved by Abbas, feeling strangely angry that the man he has shared this room with as a child, as a friend, had invaded this intimate moment with his son. He suddenly understood the change in Sef's expression before his second question and was annoyed that his fatherly duty was soiled because of his commander failing to follow his orders.

He meant to head to the Master's quarters, a place he could deal with Abbas professionally, but he stopped when the latter spoke out.

"I know how I am feeling, Altair. But I suppose I can say I am being haunted from the past,"

Altair turned; something in his chest felt warm, and painful. His eyes burned with a strange feeling of confusion as he looked at Abbas.

"A memory speaking to me from back in time. I can't quite recall what memory exactly, but I feel like a child, with so many questions."

Altair sighed. He wasn't sure if this was what Abbas had come to say or if he was just moved by the moment he just saw.

Abbas was looking at Altair's boots, his eyes not leaving his Master, his source of anger for all these years, and yet, he had not the courage to look him in the eyes. His eyes were wet with tears, and they looked up as Altair stepped closer. He jumped slightly as his Master placed a hand on his shoulder, staring into his eyes for any sign of anger or betrayal.

"So what happens when we are forgotten?" He found himself whispering.

Altair smiled, just as he had to Sef, and his scarred lips parted in a swift reply.

"Like the soldiers before us, and the many to come, we share the fruits of our labour and the blood from our wounds, before we are laid to rest in as history and nothing but legend."

Altair's hand slipped from Abbas' shoulder and he turned and began to lead the way to the Master's quarters.

"Don't be afraid to sleep because of a bad dream. Sometimes it's better to be forgotten, than to be seen."

Abbas watched him go, listening to his soft words as he progressed further and further away.

"Altair."

Altair turned but came no closer. He crossed his arms and they stared at each other in a moment of silence across the long hallway.

"I had only come because I heard your boy was hurt. I meant no harm."

"Do you have a report for me or not, Commander?"

Abbas flinched at the acid in Altair's words.

"I-I do."

He followed Altair to the quarters and was grateful when he saw Altair sink to the floor, with his back against the window, and sigh. His eyes were not angry, but tired, and Abbas figured his annoyance had been upon the intrusion rather than their past.

"All the bodies are cleaned. We buried our casualties, there were three. We are to move the enemies bodies further out of the village for burial, there is about thirty-two."

"About?" Altair raised an eyebrow, his head in one hand.

"Give or take a limb or two." Abbas shrugged.

Altair's lips curled into a smile, and then a small chuckle burst forth from his lips. Something about the bodiless limbs made him laugh, and to his surprise, so did Abbas. They shared a moment of laughter, and Abbas came to sit beside his Master.

"Altair," he chuckled. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

Altair looked at his old friend, knowing that the past was something they could never get over. All was lost for their friendship; a wasted hope was all they'd have to try to rekindle what they had once had. He tried to read into the eyes of his Commander, a man that despite his hatred, he still trusted with his life.

"The same thing I always do, Abbas." He smirked, and waved one hand towards the center of the Assassin fortress. "Why do you ask?"

Abbas stared into his eyes. "I was wondering if I could have a moment tomorrow?"

"A moment?"

"Let's just go for a walk or something? No blades, eh?"

"May the best man win?" Altair teased, knowing he was recklessly getting too close to the taboo topic with Abbas.

"No. Not like that at all."

Altair was surprised at how steady Abbas' voice sounded. Did they have more than a wasted hope?

"You wouldn't go back on your own advice, would you?" Abbas was close to exposing just how desperate he was to have Altair's answer. He knew pushing it wouldn't help, but he was aiming low now anyways.

"What?" Altair thought for a moment, chewing on his cheek. It didn't take him long.

"Don't be afraid of the moment, Don't be afraid of tomorrow." he whispered, a sudden heat that had nothing to do with the temperature filling his chest.

Abbas finished the thought for him. "Don't be afraid of the moment, Don't be afraid of love."


End file.
